The Perilous Point
by Yunitsa
Summary: In her last months as Flitwick's apprentice, Cassie Clemmens must deal with her developing feelings for Severus Snape, the evil that threatens her new home and a treacherous chess game that could mean checkmate for them all. Sequel to "Here Then at Home".
1. A Jarring Lyre

**The** **Perilous** **Point**

By Natasha Simonova

_Lay on thy whips, O Love, that we upright,_  
_Poised on the perilous point, in no lax bed_  
_May sleep, as tension at the verberant core_  
_Of music sleeps; for, if thou spare to smite,_  
_Staggering, we stoop, stooping, fall dumb and dead,_  
_And, dying so, sleep our sweet sleep no more._

Chapter 1: A Jarring Lyre

_"Or scorn or pity on me take,_   
_ I must the true relation make, _  
_ I am undone tonight."_

_-- Ben Jonson, "The Dream"_

Walking hurt. Even that small effort of simply putting one foot in front of the other was almost more than he was capable of, but it was beneath his dignity to stumble even alone at night on the wooded path from Hogsmeade where no one could possibly see him. It was nearly impossible now to feel truly alone, not with the Mark a continuous dull throb in his arm.

Not much longer, perhaps. Surely the war would soon turn towards one side or another – it was getting harder to care which. Or at least open battle, and not this prolonged skulking about in the shadows of which he was so tired.

No. Better not to think about exhaustion, it only made the weights in his feet seem heavier. Anything, even memory, would serve better.

_The high, arch voice was always there, through all the horrors, but welcome now: "You have done well tonight. You may go."_

_Relief, sudden and all encompassing, as he prepared to Disapparate. But too soon._

_"You stay, Snape. We have much to discuss."_

_"You have my report -- my lord."_

_"Yes." Hissing the word until it was in itself almost an accusation. " I have it."_

_A silence, not yet directly threatening, inviting confession. Were his thoughts running where no one pursued? Then:_

_"And you have nothing to add to that report?"_

_"No, my lord."_

_"You would never… lie to me, would you, Snape?"_

_"No, my lord."_

_"And never withhold anything from me?"_

_Closer. Tempting to protest "of course not" and deny it with more passion, but that too would be a clue._

_"No,_ _my_ _lord."_

_"Good. See that you never do. You know the fate of a Death Eater who betrays me – it begins…so." He raised his wand with a casual flick, turning away almost before pronouncing the word, "CRUCIO!"_

They'd left him in the clearing, to recover or not as he would. He had lain there for what seemed like a long time, without the strength to get up, hoping, perhaps, that Voldemort had miscalculated in his curse, but knowing that he would not die.

After a while, he was able to rise. A longer wait, and he could focus enough to Apparate to the outskirts of Hogsmeade, though nearly splinching himself in the process. Not far now – the dark castle, a few lit windows where a student or professor was burning the midnight oil, loomed just ahead. He had only to skirt the edge of the lake to reach the small side door that would lead him directly the dungeons.

He contemplated the black water of the lake as he rounded it, his thoughts unpleasantly dulled by the pain. The setting moon glinted on it, cool and strangely inviting. It would be so easy…such a simple path to escape…

He would, he told himself later, certainly not have done it, whatever happened next. But as it was he was given no choice, for when his feet carried him, almost of their own volition, around the bend of the path and within sight of the door, he saw a pale figure standing there. As he approached, the figure resolved itself into the person of Cassiopeia Clemmens, robe thrown hastily over a pale nightgown and moonlight flashing off her spectacles, standing with her hands on her hips.

"Hello, Professor," she said pleasantly. "Were you out for a walk?"

***

She hadn't worried when he had been absent during dinner, or when, coming to the dungeons with a question, she had found them empty. But when, over a late tea and lesson plans in his chambers, Professor Flitwick had commented that none of the professors had seen him all that evening and even the Headmaster had appeared concerned, she had begun to feel anxious. Still, she told herself that Professor Snape was a grown man and it was certainly none of her business, and went resolutely to bed.

In all probability, she would have stayed there too, if it weren't for her treacherous subconscious. She dreamed that she had woken up and gone down to the dungeons but, as that evening, the Potions classroom was empty. She was determined to find Professor Snape, though, because she needed to tell him something very important, so she went through the connecting door into his office, fully expecting to see him there. But the chair was empty, and on its back sat an enormous black raven.

"You won't find him," the raven said, in a voice surprisingly smooth and cultured. "You'll never find him. I have him now…"

…and she'd woken up with a stifled scream, and, snatching tomorrow's robe and her spectacles, ran down to the dungeons.

As in the dream, he hadn't been there, or in the staff room, the Infirmary, or anywhere else she checked. It occurred to her that she didn't know where his private rooms were, but they were likely to be near the Slytherin dormitories, so she hurried down to the dungeons again. 

The corridor was dark, and the stones cold to her bare feet. She slowed down, realizing that she had no idea where the Slytherin common room actually was, and, discouraged, almost thought to go back up to her room and to sleep, when she saw a short flight of stairs to her left that she'd never noticed before, with a door at its summit. 

It was unlocked, and when she opened it, she saw that it led to the outside, a bit of lawn near the lake. The night air was cool, even in late April, and she was about to go back inside when she saw a dark figure moving towards her. It came closer, and she recognized it as her query. Feeling suddenly very ridiculous in her nightgown and bare feet, she put her hands on her hips and said in what she hoped was a light and only faintly accusing tone,

"Hello, Professor. Were you out for a walk?"

***

"What are you doing here?" he said by way of greeting.

Cassie thought furiously, and decided on the truth. "I was looking for you."

He seemed to instantly snap to alertness, and she wondered why she hadn't noticed his slightly hesitating walk and stooped shoulders before. "Looking for me?" he repeated. "Has something happened?"

"No," Cassie replied slowly, a thoughtful line appearing between her brows. "I was just worried. With reason, it seems. How badly are you hurt?"

Snape waved away her concern, but the motion was just a little more jerky and abrupt than usual. "Nothing a potion won't cure. You can go back to bed."

For a moment, Cassie wondered if she oughtn't do just that since he seemed capable of caring for himself, when something caught her attention. She leaned forward, brushing away a strand of his hair, and when she brought her hand away it was stained dark.

"I'm not leaving you to your own devices when you're bleeding, you foolish man," she said firmly. "You can't be thinking too clearly if it's a head injury, and I'd hate to see you add too much wormwood to that potion. I'd ask you to go see Madam Pomfrey, but I know you wouldn't." She gave a long-suffering sigh and turned back towards the dark stairway. "Well, come along. We both have classes to teach tomorrow."

"It seems that I am in no position to argue," Snape said with heavy irony, but he followed her meekly enough to his office. _And that,_ Cassie thought, _cannot be a good sign._

***

Cassie narrowed her eyes critically at the potion and poured in a liberal dose of chamomile extract when she judged Snape to be looking elsewhere. Anything to get the man to rest; he seemed so worn out as to be almost transparent.

Yes, she realized, observing him furtively while pretending to search the shelves for more ingredients, whatever it was that he was up to was certainly taking a heavy toll. He sat now, his chair drawn as close to the fire as possible, chin resting on his steepled fingers. They were shaking slightly, she thought, though that may have been a trick of the flickering light.  

He presented an almost romantic sort of brooding figure right then, rather like Mr. Rochester except that Mr. Rochester, Cassie reminded herself, was rather a selfish git. No, more like Paul Emmanuel, if must be a Bronte character – _Now, does that make me Madame Beck or Lucy?_ Ridiculous thought. Or perhaps a Byronic hero…like Byron himself, "_mad, bad, and dangerous to know…"_

She stopped stirring the potion abruptly, stealing a glance in Snape's direction to make sure he hadn't noticed. All to blame on exhaustion, of course. Lack of sleep was addling her wits. And speaking of addling…

"I hate this, I really do," Cassie said aloud, breaking the faintly uneasy silence.

Snape looked up from his perusal of the fire. "I admit it's hardly the most attractive of potions, but such strong antagonism…?"

"So your defect is to hate everybody and to wilfully misunderstand them," she said, taking refuge in a quotation. "You know I didn't mean the potion."

"What then?" He didn't sound interested in the least.

"People hiding things from me. _You_ hiding things from me, especially. It's maddening."

"By all means, accept my apologies. And take that cauldron off the fire before there's nothing left in it." 

Frowning, Cassie did so, poured the steaming potion into a mug and set it on the table in front of him. Cleaning up the ingredients, she decided, would have to wait.

"I'm not interested in your apologies. Just the truth. As always." 

Absently, she took a handkerchief out of her pocket, shook it out, and began to clean the drying blood from the side of his face. There was more than she'd thought and the surprised pity must have shown on her face, for he pushed her hand away none too gently and snapped,

"A minor wound; leave it."

"Minor…?" Cassie breathed. "I'd hate to think –"

"Then don't."

She drew back. "All right, then. Wallow in self-pity if you insist, it could be good for you if not turned into a permanent condition. But I don't see what could possibly be so secret – surely we're on the same side?"

_Don't you trust me?_ added a plaintive little voice in the back of her mind, but it was hesitant and easily quelled.

She thought he wouldn't answer, but after a moment he said, quietly, "The last time you asked me for truth, I gave it to you."

"And very reluctantly it was. But this is different."

"Is it?"

"Last winter, it was just me and my cursed curiosity. There was no danger, except for ignorant error on my part. Now… Do you think I can't tell that it's far worse than it looks? That potion is hardly made for 'minor injuries'. What if you get yourself killed, next time?"

"Oh, I doubt it," Snape said meditatively. "Not quite yet."

"Well, that's reassuring." _How does he always manage to make my life so terribly complicated? _She busied herself with refolding the handkerchief (now where on earth had she acquired a _black _one?), biting her lower lip in thought. "You put your life on the line – are you certain that it is worth it?"

He sipped at the cooling potion for a time before replying. "It must be. It could…hardly be worth less."

In her tired state, it took a moment for Cassie to puzzle this out, and when she did she gasped involuntarily, hardly aware of what she was saying, "_Oh_, my dear…"

The cup fell to the floor and shattered, spraying potion on the hem of her robe, but Cassie barely noticed. Her gaze was riveted on Snape, rising a little unsteadily from his chair, his face set and harsh. 

"Do you believe that you can reform me with your sympathy? That a little kindness and compassion would solve all my problems? And to think that I had given you credit for some intelligence. No, Miss Clemmens, you are sadly mistaken. I don't want your help and I_ don't need your pity._"

A preternatural calm descended after this outburst, silent but for the crackling of the fire. Cassie's hand flew to her face as though struck, but she caught it half way and clenched it, lest it betray her. 

"You forget, I think, to whom you are speaking," she said tightly. "I am _not _one of your students to be reprimanded. I thought we had already established that." She took a deep composing breath before going on, "I don't pity you, you know. And I certainly have no wish to reform you, even if I could. You're far more interesting when you're scowling and being unpleasant…to other people. But I am very concerned for you. You must allow me to be concerned."    

He turned away from her, his dark hair sliding to conceal his face. "Do not waste your concern."

"It's all mine to waste." She bent to gather up the shards of the teacup and placed them in a neat pile on the table. "After all, we are –" _What? Friends? _"—colleagues," she finished weakly. Curse it, the man was in no more shape to make confessions than she was to receive them. Better to escape before anything else regrettable was said. "And we both have to work in a very few hours, so I should leave you to your rest. Though I do expect to get to the bottom of this, one way or another."   

For a moment, she thought that Snape was about to call her back. To thank her? Apologize? Either would have been most uncharacteristic.

Too uncharacteristic. She reached the door unimpeded.

***

Why had he looked to solitude as a release? He had it now, but there was no freedom in being alone, only…emptiness. Certainly no rest. Well, it hardly mattered. None of the students or faculty would notice any change in his tired appearance tomorrow. Cass—the Clemmens girl might remark on it, but she was guided by idle curiosity only, for all her professions of concern. 

It had to be only idle curiosity. What a piece of cosmic irony it would be if someone started caring for him now, so near his destruction, though… No, the universe only played jokes on him of a more cruel sort. Unfair, to wish to burden an innocent young woman with the even part of the load that he carried, no matter how much she claimed to wish it.

How young? She had received her Hogwarts letter the year he had begun teaching… A ten years' difference, how could the chasm between them be so very wide? And yet she too had been affected by Voldemort, however indirectly…

The fire, dying down as dawn approached, flashed at him mockingly and provided no answers.

A/N: Well, here it is! Thanks to everyone who expressed interest in reading a sequel to my first story, and I hope that it meets your expectations. I'm a bit daunted by the plot I'm trying to put together, but I shall try my best and would, as always, appreciate any comments.

Thank you to my beta readers, Kathleen and Zsenya, who is as ever more Jane Bennet than Lady Catherine de Bourgh:) Also to my RL readers, especially Erica and Katie, for their input and encouragement while I was trying to get this story off the ground. Let's see what happens.


	2. Many a Subtle Question

Chapter 2: Many a Subtle Question

_"I keep six honest serving-men,  
They taught me all I knew;  
Their names are What and Why and When  
And How and Where and Who."_

_-- Rudyard Kipling_

A lifeless silence fell over the staff room as Professor Binns rose – or rather floated up – to speak. With an inner sigh, Cassie leaned her cheek on her hand, schooled her face into an expression of rapt attention, and allowed her mind to wander.

Across the room, Professor Flitwick flashed her a commiserating smile, and she lifted her eyebrows a fraction in response. She would miss Flitwick terribly after he retired, but, as he had explained to her a few months ago, he had his reasons.

"I am growing old, and it's only right that I should yield my place to someone more fit for the battle ahead."

Her own position owed itself to his retirement, but she had felt compelled to argue with this. "Dumbledore—"

A peculiar, rueful expression had shown for a moment on his kindly face. "Dumbledore," he had said, "is a Great man, while I am only an aging wizard. I am tired, Cassiopeia, and Hogwarts needs your strength."

With Dumbledore's Greatness, she could not argue. She felt its shadow every once in while, and it never failed to send an odd chill through her. Why, she could not say. But for the Slytherins, the students clearly loved him, the professors – including herself – respected him, and yet…

Flitwick, however, was not the one who appeared tired at the staff meeting. Snape was even more pale than usual in his black robes, and his hands resting on the arms of his chair were almost skeletal. Cassie wished that someone would force him to eat and go to bed, but no one else appeared concerned in the least, and she certainly couldn't force him to do anything against his will. She didn't feel particularly strong, whatever Flitwick said.

But aside from the Potions Master and all the complications he presented, her life at Hogwarts was proving both challenging and rewarding and, come what may, she would not have traded it for anything. The choice made during a star-lit walk in November had proved the right one.

Which was not to say that there hadn't been difficulties. The Slytherins, especially the older ones, had never really warmed to her, though warned away from outright displays of hostility. Oddly enough, the two students that liked her least also seemed to have no love lost between them, but Malfoy and Zabini's private affairs were no business of hers. _And neither are certain other affairs. Best keep that in mind._

A shaft of morning sun shone through the staff room window, illuminating the dancing dust motes in the air and shining over the varied, thoughtful faces of the professors. Cassie thought them beautiful in that moment, and wondered how Voldemort could possibly hope to spread his rule of darkness over a place so essentially light.

_Voldemort._ Why hadn't she thought of it before? Surely Snape's dangerous night time journeys had something to do with the impeding war, but if so, why couldn't she be told? _I will ask him_, she decided. _Right after the meeting. I'm through with being kept in the dark._

Professor Binns's report came to a merciful end, and after a few words from Dumbledore on the situation in the outside world – there had been several more raids, but the Ministry continued to treat them as isolated crimes – the meeting ended.

Snape was among the first to rise, seeming eager to escape the room, and Cassie was about to follow him in order to carry out her plan when she was stopped by Professor Vector.

"Cassiopeia, wait a moment," the Arithmancy witch called out, as the other professors hurried past on their way to their first classes. 

Cassie swallowed her disappointment – after all, she would have other opportunities to question the Potions Master and she rather liked Vector – and waited by the door for the older woman to gather up her books and parchment and join her.

"Filius told me that he is teaching today's first class and I don't have any students until later, so I wondered if you would like to have some tea together?" Vector asked, looking down at Cassie with a kind glint in her eyes that belied her brisk tone. "I noticed your absence at breakfast."

"Yes," she answered uncomfortably as they walked along the corridor to Vector's office, "I…overslept."

Vector's eyebrows rose a fraction. "Did you?"

Cassie judged that it was past time to change the subject. "Was there anything particular that you wanted to speak with me about?"

"Actually, there was." 

They reached their destination, and Vector waved Cassie into the bright but rather dusty office, full of parchment scrolls, thick books, and the various tools used in Arithmancy, all stacked in apparent disorder. Vector cleared an armchair for her guest and called for a tea tray from the kitchens, complete with fresh cranberry scones that reminded Cassie that she really _had_ missed breakfast. Finally, each settled with a teacup and a scone, they were able to continue their conversation.

"One of your parents was Muggle-born, isn't that right?" Vector asked abruptly.

Cassie, whose thoughts had been following a rather different path, nearly choked on a crumb. 

"Yes," she said, recovering. "My mother."

"Well, one of my Muggle-born students – Lisa Turpin?"

"I know her a bit. She's very…outspoken. High marks in Charms."

"Arithmancy too, but what else would you except from a Ravenclaw?" remarked Vector, a proud alumnus of that house. "We were discussing one of her essays after class yesterday, and she made some interesting comments about the resemblance between certain branches of Muggle science and magic."

Cassie nodded thoughtfully. "They try to replace it, in their way. That's part of the reason for my love of Muggle literature, in fact – have you ever noticed how most things written by our kind tend to the --"

"Dry?" Vector smiled. "Indeed. The same goes for technology; there've been articles enough on _that_. But Turpin was talking about theoretical science – something called quantum theory, specifically."

"That sounds fascinating," Cassie admitted, "But I fail to see how I can help."

"She wanted to do more research right away, and since she can't access a Muggle library during term time she wondered whether any of the other teachers might have books on the subject."

"I'll certainly check and let you know. Merlin knows what I might have, gathering dust on my shelves." 

Scones were finished, tea things cleared away, and Cassie Clemmens, not being gifted with any talent at Divination, did not attach much significance to the conversation.   

***

Cassie loved the Hogwarts library. Its atmosphere of antiquity was always somehow reassuring – as though, whatever horrors and follies witches and wizards went through in the outside world, the books remained and would always remain, a testament of their time and of eternity.

But she could not, however much she tried, like the Restricted Section. Those books were the vultures, enjoying and sometimes assisting in the terrors of the world, written out of hatred, not love. She told herself that it was empty superstition, but she never felt comfortable in that shadowy corner of library.

Still, trips there were sometimes necessary. On this occasion, she was looking for a book on hexes that Flitwick wanted to use for a combined lesson with the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Arabella Figg. Madam Pince had pointed out the shelf to her with obvious protective reluctance, and then flew off to reprove a group of noisy Gryffindors.

Looking through the titles for the book she needed, Cassie reached the end of the shelf, turned the corner still scanning the books and impacted with another person who had been doing the same. She looked up with words of apology on her lips, and met the startled dark eyes of Blaise Zabini.

The girl caught the edge of the shelf for support, the surprise on her face quickly changing into her habitual expression of contempt. She was holding a heavy book with _Ars Maleficus_ printed in ornate green letters on the cover, wrapping her arms around it in a vain attempt to hide the title, an unusually nervous motion that caught Cassie's attention.

"Do you have permission to be here?" she asked in her best professorial tone, adapted as best as she could from Minerva McGonagall.

"Sure," Blaise chirped with an unpleasant little smile. "Do you?"

Cassie refused to rise to the bait. "May I see your note?"

The girl's pale face hardened. "You're so used to everyone doing as you like! But not me."

"What is it that you're so upset about?" Cassie asked, mystified, and no longer sounding the least bit like Professor McGonagall.

To her surprise, tears gathered in Blaise's eyes, even as her face flushed with anger. "I don't have to answer that. I don't have to answer anything. I'll do whatever I like, and none of you pathetic Mugglelovers will be able to stop me ever again, because I'm stronger than you, do you hear? I'm stronger!"

She turned on her heel and ran from the library, her long black hair flying behind her.

_Oh, no_, Cassie told herself on her way to check out the hex book, _No more. I will report her to Madam Pince and that will be that. This Slytherin can keep her secrets. _

***

After the last class of the day, she returned to her room and began the search for books for Lisa Turpin, which took her the better part of an hour, at the end of which she had a small stack of hopeful-looking volumes. This Cassie decided to carry down to Vector's office herself rather than send them by fireplace and from there, since it was, if not precisely on the way, at least not a very long detour, she descended into the dungeons.

She found Snape still at his desk in the Potions classroom, grading essays with the appearance of intense distaste. 

_It's a charitable act, really. I would blame myself forever if I did _not _distract him._

"Good afternoon," she said, perching on the edge of a front row desk. 

To her surprise, he did not snap at her, but raised his head and sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand.

"Headache?" Cassie asked sympathetically.

"No one who has never had the experience of teaching second-year students could ever properly appreciate the beauty of _silence_."

"Truer words have ne'er been spoken," Cassie agreed, and added nobly, "Would you like me to leave?" 

She would have done it too, gladly, in spite of all her plans, if it would have helped in the least. _I would give you my soul in a blackberry pie, and a knife to cut it with…_ Where had she read that? 

Snape shook his head. "I could use a distraction from…this." He waved contemptuously as the essays.

"I'd offer to help," Cassie said with a rueful smile, abandoning her furious mental attempts to trace the quotation, "But I doubt that my Potions knowledge would be much of a improvement." 

"The daughter of Cetus Clemmens, claiming to be ignorant in Potions? Neville _Longbottom_ would have become an expert."

"It wasn't for lack of trying." Her hands, of their own volition, twisted in the dark blue fabric of her robe. Curse it, that was _not_ what she'd come here to talk about. "I just…truly lack the talent, I suppose. You should know, you've seen me attempt it."

He walked around to the front of the desk and leaned back against it, crossing his arms as though to deliver a reproof. "What I _know_," he said, and she was struck by how mesmerising his voice was, even when completely devoid of expression, "is that none of your 'attempts' have ever resulted in poisoning, explosions, or melted cauldrons, which is more than I can say for most of the students leaving this school."

_Good heavens, had that been a _compliment_? Just how awful had those second-years been?_

She smiled hesitantly, ridiculously pleased. "Maybe I just haven't found the right person to poison yet."

A corner of his mouth quirked up in response, and Cassie remembered suddenly why she had come here so often over the past months, braving the harshness and the sarcasm and the invisible wall that sometimes seemed thicker than the dungeons'. 

The last thing I want is to ruin this. I wish I could be content not knowing. I wish I didn't have to ask…

"Where you went last night, did it have something to do with You-Know—Voldemort?" she blurted out, cursing herself immediately as the shutter once again fell over his face.

"I thought that we had finished with that topic."

"Then you thought wrong," she said staunchly. The path was taken; there could be no stopping halfway. "We won't be finished until you either tell me the truth or give me an acceptable reason for not doing so."

Snape looked up then and met her eyes for a moment with an expression of pained frustration that she couldn't interpret. "Why must you always hound me with questions?"

"Because it's the only way to get any answers from you! You're so caught up in trying to shut me out that it doesn't occur to you that _maybe_ I can be trusted."

"This is not about trust!"

"Then what, pray tell, is it about?"

His hands gripped the edge of the desk tightly, the gesture conveying supreme exasperation. "You really are no better than the second-years! Always asking silly questions, never willing to accept when something has to be kept secret for their own protection –"

"_Protection_?" Cassie exclaimed. "And what exactly," she said, caught between shocked laughter, outrage, and pure fury, "is it you think you are protecting me from?"

"You ought to be grateful for your innocence from – ignorance of these matters," he went on, as though she had not spoken, "And instead you come here, prying into things that do not concern you and expecting to be handed the truth on a silver platter, as though it were –" He stopped abruptly, with an almost comical expression of having Said Too Much.

Cassie regarded him closely, trying to digest this deluge. "So I'm an overly nosy innocent who needs to be protected from the truth? Is that what you think of me?"

Snape gave a noncommittal shrug, and turned back to his essays. Cassie wondered if he always spoke only in bursts, whether perhaps he was right about her, and what on earth she should do know.

Telling the truth would, perhaps, be a reasonable start.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking down at the floor. "I wish I could leave well enough alone, but I can't, not when it may be important, don't you see? It's not just curiosity, though that is the easiest word. I'm not _entirely_ hopeless, you know, certainly not innocent. Perhaps I would be able to help, however slightly."

A shadow fell across the stones she was watching so closely. "Your apology is accepted. Now may we please abandon the topic?"

Cassie sighed lightly. "Alright. Peace?"

She held out her hand, small and pale inside the wide sleeve, and Snape took it. He had a musician's fingers, long, elegant, and unexpectedly warm around her own. She could have mapped every callus.

_And yet it's not settled. I must find some way to prove to him that I am not the child he thinks me. _It was suddenly very important that he not see her as a child. _But how?___

Against all odds, a smile curved up the corners of her lips as an idea struck.

"Professor," Cassie said, looking up to finally meet his eyes, "Would you care for a game of chess?"

A/N: First, a note on Blaise Zabini. There was supposed to be a side-story about her called "A Blaise of Glory", but it got hopelessly bogged down in the middle so I thought I would provide some background. Blaise is the daughter of an old, pureblood Slytherin family who has fallen on hard times after Voldemort's defeat. She's very proud of her family name, but the other Slytherin at Hogwarts despise her, and she despises them just as much in return (though Snape helps her out in an oblique way). Then, the summer before her fifth year (the year this story takes place), her parents are killed in a Muggle-related accident that she's helpless to prevent. She comes back very bitter, blaming everyone, and desperate to prove herself as a Zabini. Before the accident, she was leaning towards supporting Voldemort. Now…we'll see.

Lots of schnoogles to everyone who reviewed the first chapter – Rugi Gwena, Xara (I once read a Snapefic with an OC named Natasha, so I know how you feel!), Hansom B. Wunderfull, bluemeanies, bosch (I appreciated all your lovely reviews for HtaH, though I'd disagree about it being a "straight DLS homage"), Chimichuji (well, it can't be _that_ odd – look at the Snapefans list:), eriu, Katie (who didn't need to review, but it was nice of her anyway), R.J. Anderson, and Erica H. Smith (and if you haven't read their stories – run, don't walk!). And of course, my _wonderful_ beta reader Zsenya.

As always, comments would be very much appreciated.


	3. The Spectres of the Mind

Chapter 3: The Spectres of the Mind

_"The warld and all_ _that is therein suthlye,_  
_The chekker may in figour signifye."_

_-- William Caxton, "The Game and Playe of Chesse"_

She stood precariously on tiptoe, just barely reaching the top of the bookcase, and pulled out the old, weathered chess set. The unexpected weight made her finally overbalance, and she was just briefly considering how much the fall would hurt, especially with the chess set landing last, when a firm hand touched the small of her back and steadied her.

Cassie knew better than to acknowledge the gesture. She took her time climbing carefully down the stepladder, and when she finally turned around Snape was once again seated, regarding her with a faint expression of boredom.

Ensconced in her own deep blue armchair and surrounded by all her most prized possessions, he looked rather incongruous, though not nearly so much as she had expected and feared. Her mahogany and blue had little in common with green and silver, yet she could picture him there without much effort, if she wished to.

Did she wish to?

Cassie shook her head slightly, annoyed with herself, and set the chess set down on a small table before the fire. The intricate carving on the case was smoothed with age and crisscrossed by deep and hairline scratches, yet, even silenced, it spoke of antiquity and the long-forgotten past. She remembered her mother, while she was still too young to properly learn the game, using the pieces to illustrate tales of kings and queens, dragons and besieged castles. Somehow there had never been any irritatingly reticent wizards in those stories.

"Black or white?" she asked dispassionately, setting up the board.

"Black, naturally," he answered with a peculiar half-smile, adding, "Not to imply that you need the advantage."

Cassie nodded, and they began to play.

It was an odd game, completely quiet except for an occasional thoughtful "Hmmm" or sharp "Check". The set was an old one, designed to capture, not to destroy, and obeying traditional movement as well as verbal commands. They were fairly evenly matched, at least at first. Both were aware of strategy and both knew that only in the final few moves would the contest be decided.

It came down in the last to Cassie's queen, matched against a knight and bishop, and, seeing victory close at hand, she moved too rashly, exposing her king to both the black pieces' attack.

"Checkmate," said Snape softly, reaching across the board and laying the white king on his side.

She smiled ruefully, acknowledging defeat, and was surprised to find herself shivering. There was a cheerful blaze in the fireplace, and the room was not in the least bit cold.

For a while, a silence descended, peculiar but not uncomfortable. Then Cassie reached again for the board, and began to reset the pieces in their proper positions.

"Another game?" Snape asked. He did not sound displeased at the prospect, and certainly more relaxed than she had ever heard him.

"No," she answered with a touch of regret. "One from the past that I would like you to see. The chessmen remember it." With few murmured words, the pieces seemed to spring to attention, ready to re-enact the game. "My mother and I would often play when I was younger," she said by way of explanation, "but she was such an excellent chess player that, however many handicaps she gave me, I could never quite beat her. Except the once."

She tapped a white pawn and as it moved forward two squares, the game, played through the span of a decade by invisible players, began.

White played hesitantly, seeming to carefully consider each possibility before cautiously making a move. Black was more confident, almost, though never quite, careless, and at first the outcome seemed certain as captured white pieces piled at the side of the board until, in addition to the king, only a rook, a bishop, and a solitary pawn remained. 

Then white grew more assured and moved forward, then again, and its strategy revealed itself, too late for black to counter. With the sacrifice of its pieces it had gained a perfect position. The white pawn moved forward a space and was captured, but the rook and bishop circled around and, between them, achieved checkmate.

Slowly, as though unused to the motion, the black king toppled onto its side. The chessmen stilled.

Cassie's gaze broke away from the chequered battlefield and went to the window. She was surprised to find that the sky was already dark – they had missed dinner completely. Then she looked up at Snape to find him regarding her with an amused expression that did not quite reach his eyes.

"Are you, by any chance, trying to prove a point?"

She smiled. "Perhaps."

"Well," he said slowly, rising out of the depths of the chair, "I won't say that you haven't succeeded. I will promise you this – if, at any point, my task becomes a danger to you, or to others –"

"Or to yourself," Cassie interjected.

He nodded wearily. All the previous relaxation was gone, as though she had dreamed it. "--Or to myself -- I will tell you all." At the door he turned back, and his dark eyes met hers for a brief, tension-filled moment. "It is the best I can offer."

And with that she had to be content.

***

A fortnight went by, as the days slowly became warmer and the nights shorter. Students chattered of holidays in the corridors or sat bent over books in the library, furiously studying for exams. Attendance at Quidditch matches, if possible, rose, and every house point became suddenly of vital importance. Cassie and Snape resumed their cautious, unspoken companionship, though, by a silent mutual agreement, they did not play chess again. And if, through it all, a shadow grew outside the walls of Hogwarts, or if some inside those walls welcomed it, the threat seemed to go unnoticed. 

Cassie Clemmens read, drank tea with the professors, and prepared exams, trying to adjust to the thought that in just a few months Flitwick would be gone and she alone would be Charms Professor at Hogwarts. Even with all the help that Professors Vector, McGonagall, and, in his usual backhanded fashion, Snape could give her, she did not feel at all equal to the task. At the same time, it was a comfort to focus on the minutiae of daily life and not on secrets, lies, and a war against evil that would, perhaps, never come after all. 

***

"So we schedule Neville Longbottom last?" Cassie asked, looking up from her notes. It was a warm late-April afternoon, and the last rays of the sun shone across Flitwick's office to fall onto the parchment in front of her.

"Yes. He's a dear boy, but if he ends up setting fire to anything or," Flitwick added wryly, "causing anyone to levitate, I would not want to delay the other exams."

"Alright," she said and put down her quill, stretching cramped fingers. "That's all of them. There won't be any conflicts?"

"There shouldn't be. I've checked with all the other professors, except --" Flitwick's smile was positively angelic "--Severus and Sybill."

Cassie winced theatrically, trying not to laugh. "How cruel is fate – although I don't suppose for one minute that fate had anything to do with it. You're _certain_ it was Ravenclaw and not Slytherin?"

He looked back at her innocently. "But I thought you liked Severus, my dear."

Deciding not to deign this with an answer, Cassie picked up her quill and parchment and made the most dignified exit that she was capable of. Outside in the corridor, her face relaxed into a smile and she squared her shoulders before heading off to meet Sybill Trelawney in her lair. 

***

"Come in," Cassie said, pouring herself a third cup of strong tea. She was reeling from an overwhelming amount of incense and horrible prophecies of doom, and afraid that conversation with Snape, though certainly less exhausting that Trelawney's, would still required a great deal of mental energy that she did not feel up to providing. Still, it was better to get it over with.

Snape entered and sat down silently in what was becoming his usual chair. She dropped the exam schedules in his lap and leaned against the upholstered back, looking over his shoulder as he compared them with his own meticulous ones.

"No conflicts," he said at last, rather curtly.

"Oh, good," Cassie said, and reached over to retrieve her roll of parchment, her hand brushing against his left arm.

His flinch at the contact was so slight and hastily concealed that she almost did not notice it – almost.

"What is it?" she asked.

Snape rose abruptly and turned away, not answering.

She had a brief, furious debate with herself, certain than any option she'd pick would prove wrong, and then her hand darted out and caught at his, pulling up the sleeve before he could stop her. 

The Dark Mark stood out angrily against the pale skin of his arm. It was not directly hot, but the touch of it burned her fingers, and the eyes of the skull seemed to be watching her malevolently, irate at being disturbed.

Cassie recoiled, and for a moment could not speak past the tightness in her throat. Then, very slowly, she said, "This can't be what it looks like."

"Can't it?" Snape echoed, sounding more resigned than bitter.

"No," then with growing confidence, "Of course not. You aren't a traitor."

"Oh, but you see," he said, soft and mocking, "That's exactly what I am."

Cassie's eyes flew up to look at him closely, and then she shook her head, willing the right words to come. "It's too late. No more secrets, veiled hints, or half-truths, not when the stakes are so high. Tell me." Then she added quietly, "Please."

And so he began to speak, slowly and haltingly, as though the words were coming from some inner place rusty with long disuse. 

"It is, I suppose, always best to start at the beginning. I was a Death Eater. I joined them in my last year at Hogwarts – they found a use for me at a time when I sorely needed one. Your father, you may wish to know, made a valiant attempt to stop me, but I was convinced that he was only trying to hold me back. That is, of course, what caused the breach between us.

"I was with them for several years. The deaths went from necessary to deliberate, but I continued to find excuses rather than leave the one place that wanted me. Eventually, though, it became…bad enough to overcome my inertia, so I fled to Dumbledore and told him everything."

His face took on a faraway quality for a moment, as though he was watching the scene take place, and by some trick of empathy Cassie could almost see it too: the haunted look of the younger Snape as he knelt before Dumbledore's desk and gave his account and the gravity in the old wizard's eyes as he listened.

"I fully expected him to turn me over to the Dementors directly but pity, I suppose, stayed his hand. He offered me a second chance – to return to Voldemort as a spy and report back to him. I played the part until the end of the war, when I was able to quietly avoid a trial and escape to teach at Hogwarts. But then we learned that he had returned, and I was asked to resume my role. I have done so since, to the best of ability." He paused. "Have I answered all of your questions?" 

She could not answer, thinking frantically. _A Death Eater. Well,_ chirped an absurdly buoyant voice in the back of her mind,_ that explains a lot._ She had not been fooled by his clipped, flat statements – the pain of those years, still continuing with no hope of respite, showed through in his voice and expression well enough for her to read. What could she say in response to that? What shred of comfort could she possibly offer?

Nothing, as it turned out. She simply nodded, biting her lip, and tried to swallow past the lump in her throat.

"So," Snape said quietly. "Now you know all. _Run_."

Cassie looked up, startled violently from her confusion. "Run?" she repeated incredulously. "If I cared for you no more than a – a box of frozen Ashwinder eggs, I wouldn't do that! But I do care – I care a great deal, though Merlin knows you don't make it easy. I may not be much help, but if you think that I could turn away from you now that I finally know what a mess you're in then, my dear professor, you don't know me at all. I will support you, as best as I can, unless – unless you ask me not to."

She stopped, breathless, and somehow found the strength to meet and hold his gaze. There was surprise there and a growing wonder, but above all appraisal; a test she need not feel equipped to pass.

_You have been weighed; you have been measured…_

But not, it seemed, found wanting. He gave a miniscule nod, an almost-smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, and Cassie dared to breathe a sigh of relief.

She found herself hoping that he would make some familiarly scathing remark, anything to break the suddenly unbearable tension, when Snape stepped towards her and said the least expected thing of all.

"Thank you." His voice was pitched low, and she had the impression that, had there been others in the room, they would not have been able to hear him – the words were meant for her alone. "Never think that I don't appreciate what you've done tonight – it was very brave, and I believe you mean what you say. But I must warn you…I don't know what lies behind your unshakable trust in me, but take care. I may seem to be the picturesque sufferer now, but you don't know half of what I've done and could do, even – and not always – in the name of good. Little can be said of my methods and less of my morals, except that I do, as a rule, have a purpose. Take care," he repeated, "Don't let yourself be deceived."

Realizing how much the caution cost him, Cassie struggled to speak despite the odd haze in her mind and the sudden, overwhelming effect his nearness was having on her senses.

"I should think," she managed a little breathlessly, "That it would be men who profess morals rather than purpose who would be the more dangerous of the two."

And as Snape said nothing and she felt him begin to withdraw, Cassie reached up almost desperately, and brought her lips to his.

Awareness of the outside world, the fire, the quiet room, the moonlit world outside her window, all fled for a moment. His lips, no longer scowling or sarcastic, were thin but warm against her own, beginning to respond tentatively as his initial shock wore off, and she moved closer to deepen the kiss, needing to close the distance between them – only to feel his hands grip her shoulders, firmly setting her away.

"You foolish, thoughtless girl," said Snape with a trace of his old venom, though his voice just the slightest bit unsteady, "Have you any idea what you are about?"

"I am not thoughtless!" Cassie protested, hardly knowing what she was saying. "I know exactly –"

His lips brushed fleetingly against her forehead, and she trembled. 

"No," he said, "You don't." 

A whisper of movement, achingly loud, before the door shut quietly behind him.

A log snapped in the fire.

"Oh, dear," whispered Cassie Clemmens, and sank into the vacated chair.__

----

A/N: So sorry for the delay! Was the wait worth it? Review and tell me!

Thanks for this chapter must go to Katie, for a bit of emergency late-night beta reading in a Trailways tour bus, and Zsenya, who saved me from an excess of melodrama. It's much the better for their help.


	4. Perplexed in Faith

Chapter 4: Perplexed in Faith 

_"As 'twixt two equal armies fate  
Suspends uncertain victory,  
Our souls (which to advance their state_  
_Were gone out) hung 'twixt her and me."_

_-- John Donne, "The Ecstasy"_

A night and morning's worth of furious meditation yielded but one conclusion: _I am a fool._

After she had gone to such pains to achieve some fragile balance and, perhaps, succeeded at last, to ruin it all with one idiotic, ill considered… _Oh, heavens, I don't want to think about it._ And yet that was all that she seemed capable of doing, replaying every agonizing second until…

A distraction was clearly in order, but none seemed forthcoming. It was Saturday, and most of the students were out on the grounds enjoying the beautiful spring weather, while the professors used the time to run errands or relax in their chambers. Cassie wondered how one particular professor might be spending his time – in the dungeons, most likely, brewing some potion – and then reproved herself for wondering any such thing.

_Why does it matter what he chooses to do, as long as he isn't off getting himself in danger? He _isn't_ off getting himself in danger, is he?_ A troubling thought. Perhaps she ought to go –

No. It wasn't her job to be Snape's keeper – he could find her himself, if he needed her. And then they could stand together in front of his window in the dungeons and watch the pigs fly over Hogwarts…

_What is the_ _matter with me?_

She had told him that she cared for him, and meant it, but this…impossible infatuation had come as a complete surprise. He was irritating, secretive, all those dire warnings had surely contained some grains of truth, and certainly no one could call him attractive, though she rather thought that he had a sort of magnetism that went beyond mere appearance, and…_Oh Merlin. _Next she would be writing their initials in hearts (_SS_ and _CC_ – could it be coincidence?), or, worse yet, poetry. 

No, Cassie told herself, she would not sink that low. She was an adult, after all, and not some love struck third-year; she was surely capable of a reasonable examination of her own feelings for Sev…Prof… Severus, curse it, she had earned the right to call him that… and determine what, if anything, was to be done. 

But what recourse, she could only wonder, after discarding the first such plans of actions which came to mind and left her blushing, was there for one who found herself, at the age of twenty-six, an embarrassingly love struck adult?

Only one, it seemed. So she went to the library.

***

It didn't help. Her mind wandered futilely, and in the end she had to face the fact that, if not given an occupation, she would go mad. There was one task she had to perform, but it was not one she relished. Still, it had to be done sometime, and there was no use putting it off any longer.

Tossing a pinch of Floo powder into the fire, Cassie called Blaise Zabini into her office.

After a few minutes, she came, appearing more composed than at their last meeting, her dark hair held back with two carved ivory chopsticks in a style ill-suited for melodrama. She paused just inside the door, looking up at Cassie through her eyelashes.

"Sit down, Miss Zabini," Cassie said cautiously. "I'd like to discuss your term essay with you." She took a covert breath before plunging in. "I couldn't grade it."

Blaise looked up from her examination of her pale hands without much interest. "Why not?"

"The subject matter is…unsuitable."

The girl shrugged and her chin rose mutinously. "You said we were to write it on a subject that interests us. Pain hexes interest me."

"I'd meant a subject relevant to Charms."

"But it _is_ relevant! Hexes are only the reverse side of Charms, you know. It says so in _Ars Maleficus_."

"-- A book from the Restricted Section that you are not supposed to access without written permission. I'm sorry, Miss Zabini, but I must ask you to rewrite the essay. You will be given an extension, and I can suggest a list of topics –"

"No!" Blaise exclaimed, rising and pushing back her chair in an angry but fluid motion that somehow reminded Cassie of Snape. "I've done the work – I've got better uses for my time than doing it all over again. What's a Charms grade to me?"

"Blaise," Cassie said, unsettled by the wild restless in her dark eyes, "I worry for you."

A contemptuous toss of her head nearly disarranged the precarious hairstyle. "Who asked you to?" She leaned forward, seeming to forget her surroundings, focused on some inner goal. "Perhaps I am out of my mind. So what? Soon enough I will be free of all this, and then it won't matter. 

"Blaise…"

Her eyes snapped back to the present. "No. You shan't get any more out of me." With a small, deeply ironic curtsy, Blaise retreated to the door. "I'm tired of being told what to do or how to feel. I won't rewrite the essay," she said, and then it closed behind her. 

_She won't rewrite the essay,_ Cassie thought, troubled. _Nor seek help, unless she's forced to. And what's to be done?_

Nothing that she, a fledgling and inconveniently lovelorn teacher, could think of. She had, in any case, been spectacularly ill-equipped for the encounter, which succeeded in knocking her off balance just when she had been beginning to find equilibrium again. _Even an adolescent Slytherin is beyond me… _Cassie felt herself very dull and ineffectual, and wondered what use Flitwick or Dumbledore could possibly have hoped to get from her. In the past the mood would have taken her to the dungeons where a friendly skirmish of wits would have reassured her of her abilities, but that even route was now unavailable.

She turned and went back to the library, to sit in a corner over an open book and look miserably out the window while the sky slowly darkened outside.

At about six o'clock, she was startled by the sudden arrival of the house-elf Libby, who popped into the air above her desk.

"Begging your pardon," Libby squeaked with an airborne curtsy, and Cassie thought that she looked rather sympathetic, "But Professor Snape is looking for Miss Clemmens in the staff room."

_…and watch the pigs fly over Hogwarts…_

"Thank you," Cassie managed to say before the house-elf disappeared to continue her duties. Then she covered her face with her hands and laughed until she was close to tears.

And then she wiped her eyes with the ever-present black handkerchief, and went down to the staff room.

***

"Incredibly foolish," Snape muttered with another unproductive circuit of his office. He was not at all sure whether he meant himself or Cassiopeia – he was far from innocent of blame. It had been in his power to put an end to the whole messy affair long before it had gotten so far, before she had reached the position of being able to demand the truth from him, and _certainly_ before she had kissed him.

He had to admit, in that final moment before her lips met his, to an overwhelming desire to know whether she would actually do it. And then she had and it had nearly been too late, before self-control reasserted itself and he had beaten a hasty exit from the room. The knowledge that a single word could have toppled that prized self-control was bitter to swallow, but not the bitterest.

Snape allowed himself a moment, mid-pace, to consider the possibilities – a masochistic action, as he was then forced to quash them with the next thought. He was a condemned man, or nearly one, and she had her pure, clean life ahead of her – that was all that needed considering. 

She would have told him, certainly, that it was not his place to decide, which was exactly why he had to put a stop to it, and soon. He had been a fool to let it go this far, a fool to let her gain this hold on him. Now all that remained was to warn her away in the strictest terms possible and hope that the girl would be wise enough to take the warning.

And as he reached that resolution, his gaze focused on the dungeon floor where the light made a checkerboard pattern against the stone, and he knew, suddenly, how it would be done.

***

"You wanted to see me?" Cassie asked cautiously, stepping into the nearly deserted staff room. Her hands were trembling; she clenched them tightly together, thinking that at least he should have had the grace to look as nervous as she felt. _It's not true_, she imagined herself telling him. _It was all a strange potion fume-induced hallucination and none of it really hap—_

"_Accio_ chess set," said Snape sharply, and she cut off her inner monologue to gape at him, feeling as though she had missed the first five minutes of the discussion.

"Chess," she said in a choked voice as the board floated in through the door, the chessmen following in a bizarre imitation of ducklings. "You want to play _chess_?"

"Not quite." He quickly began to set the pieces on the board and she could see that they were not in position to begin a game. In fact…

"Oh," Cassie said weakly, and then, recovering, "Would you mind terribly telling me what's going on? Because I'm far too tired –"

"And would you mind terribly sitting down, Miss Clemmens?" Snape interrupted curtly. "Silently, if you please."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Well…alright, I suppose." She pulled up a spindly-legged chair and sat down, arranging her skirts neatly and folding her hands in her lap. _Fume-induced hallucination. Right. Except that _I _haven't been making any potions lately. _

The pieces were now in the places they had been at that long ago game, just before she had moved the pawn forward to sacrifice and victory. But then Snape reached over and, very deliberately, shifted them slightly, altering the pattern of the game.

"Well?"

"But," Cassie protested, "that would never actually –"

"Suppose it did." 

"Just where is this leading, exactly?"

"Humour me, Miss Clemmens," he snapped.

Cassie raised her eyebrows, irked at being treated like a student, but obediently bent over the board. "Well," she said thoughtfully, "With the black knight out of the way, the bishop could, conceivably, move forward – here. It would be captured by the black bishop, but then the rook would have the black king in check and – checkmate. And," she added, surprised, "And so could the rook." When he didn't answer, Cassie looked up impatiently. "So, how are my marks?"

"Excellent," Snape said, the dryness not quite ringing true. 

"So, now will you tell me why the white pawn must be sacrosanct?"

"Because," he said devastatingly, "The white pawn is a fifteen-year-old boy, though admittedly an extremely irritating one."  

"Oh," Cassie whispered, her hand unconsciously reaching out to hover over the small chess piece. "_Harry?_"

"Indeed."

"But that's ridiculous," she said, jerking her hand back and shaking her head. "You can't seriously believe that life can be reduced to an eight by eight board, to black and white?"

He shrugged. "It's a reasonable analogy."

"It is _not_…" Her eyes narrowed. "An analogy for what?"

"There is the question," he said, ignoring her, "Of whether the bishop or castle should be sacrificed."

"That's unfair. You know I love Hogwarts."

"Then the choice seems simple."

"No," Cassie said, not meeting his eyes. "Not simple at all. Nothing is with you, is it?"

"I," said Snape, lifting his eyebrows, "am hardly the one making things difficult."

"And I'm not the one presenting you with an impossible decision!"

"The situation is hardly of my devising –"

"No, of course not," she said bitterly. "You're only a pawn – or rather, a bishop." 

"I am simply," he said with some exasperation, "trying to warn you about the consequences –"

"There will always be consequences, Severus, whatever happens, so I wish you'd stop being so damnably magisterial and let me make my own decisions for once!"

His reply, if he had one to make, was interrupted by the opening of the staff room door and the high voice of Professor Flitwick, which sounded as though it came from a different world.

"Hullo, Cassiopeia? I've been looking for you everywhere. Minerva would like to know… Oh, I'm sorry," he said, becoming aware of Snape among the shadows if not the palpable tension his entrance had cut through. "Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all," Cassie said, putting the chess pieces away with quick, jerky motions and pointedly not looking at Snape. "We were only playing a game."

A/N: I know there's been a dreadful delay and I'm _very _sorry. I had a lot of trouble with this chapter and went through several rewrites, but I really think it is much the better for it. The next one should go faster.

Thanks to Katie and Zsenya for beta-reading and to everyone who has been reviewing – I love hearing your comments!


	5. The Darkness and the Cloud

Chapter 5: The Darkness and the Cloud 

_"Turning and turning in the widening gyre   
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;   
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;   
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,   
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   
The ceremony of innocence is drowned; _  
_The best lack all convictions, while the worst_   
_Are full of passionate intensity."_

_-- W.B. Yeats, "The Second Coming"_

_"'If all else perished, and _he_ remained, _I_ should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem –'"_

"Miss Clemmens?"

At the tentative query, Cassie looked up from her book (which she was finding a bit strange) and noticed Lisa Turpin, her arms full of books, standing uncertainly by her table in the Ravenclaw common room.

"Yes?"

"I've come to return your books," Lisa said, dropping the pile onto the table. "Thank you _so_ much."

"I'm glad they helped," Cassie said with a smile.

"Oh, they did. It's all absolutely _fascinating_," Lisa said, nearly bouncing with enthusiasm. "The main thing for me is that you can never know _exactly_ where something, like an electron, is, unless you observe it, and observing it can change its position so you can only ever talk in probabilities and it may be in an entire different place altogether, like New Zealand." She stopped, breathless, and looked at Cassie expectantly.

"I'm…afraid I didn't quite follow all that," Cassie said honestly.

"Oh, that's all right," Lisa allowed. "It's all very difficult and confusing, and Idon't even understand completely yet. But the connection is there -- I can just feel it. I've also been reading up on theories of the origin of magic, and they all talk about telluric currents and forces of will, but I think it's much simpler. I think what we do is simply change the _probabilities_ of things. Like this book," she said, holding up Cassie's _Wuthering Heights_. "We think it's a book, and it _probably _is, but there's the ever so slight possibility that it's actually a hedgehog. And when I wave my wand and say _Mutatio_, like this, the possibility of it being a hedgehog becomes greater than the possibility of it being a book and – voila," she said, holding up the prickly ex-book, which had curled in upon itself in the palm of her hand, "it's a hedgehog."

"It certainly is. Lisa, if I understand you correctly your theory sounds…positively revolutionary."

"Well," she said, appearing to try very hard, if vainly, to not look too pleased with herself, "it's about time we find some way to combine Muggle science with magic, isn't it? Of course, I haven't got it all figured out quite yet, like how come we can do this and the Muggles can't, and what the role of the wand is, but I'm working on it. Professor Vector thinks I should do an independent study next year, and I'm considering going to a Muggle university to study physics after I leave school, so that I know what I'm talking about. It'll be terribly difficult, of course, but I think I can manage."

"I'm sure you can. And if I can do anything to help –"

"Well, I _would _like to meet with you and Professor Vector some time soon, if," she added, suddenly deflated, "you aren't too busy or anything."

"Not at all, I'd love to see how you go on. In fact –"

Just then, a jet-black owl flew through the half-open window on a gust on wind and landed briskly on Cassie's desk, scattering water droplets in every direction. 

"The poor thing," Lisa said, as Cassie untied the note from around his foot and opened it. "The weather outside is just awful. I bet Mandy's Quidditch practice is… Miss Clemmens! What's the matter?" she asked suddenly, noticing Cassie's stricken expression and attempting to look over her shoulder at the note. 

"It's nothing, I just…I'm sorry, Lisa, I must go. I hope we can continue our discussion later," she said absently, attempting to smile.

"Wait, Miss Clemmens!" Lisa Turpin called after her as she all but ran from the common room, "What am I to do with this hedgehog? Miss Clemmens!"

***

"You called."

"You came," Snape noted with an expression of faint disbelief.

"Of course I came," Cassie said impatiently, closing his office door behind her. "I couldn't very well be angry with you for not trusting me and then not come when you need me. That would hardly be reasonable."

"Whereas you are the very model of reason and logic."

"Why, certainly," she said, returning his faint smile. They stood still, reaching some unspoken impasse, while the silence grew awkward. Finally Cassie said softly, "What's the matter?" 

"I am summoned," Snape said shortly, pulling up the sleeve of his robe. She caught a brief glimpse of the Mark, glowing poisonously, and had to restrain herself from reaching out before the black fabric was jerked back into place.  

"I see."

"Do you?"

"Do you think," she said, ignoring the provocation, "that He might suspect something?"

"It's quite possible."

"And yet you are still going."

"I have no choice," he said, striding abruptly across the room to adjust a stack of potions ingredients. _Pacing_, Cassie realized with some surprise, and then reproached herself. _Well, of course he's nervous; the man's only human. Only human._ "If I stay away," he continued, "his suspicions will be confirmed, and we cannot afford that."

"But can you trust the information you obtain? Couldn't He be deliberately feeding you lies, to keep us off His—" Noticing and biting back the capitalized pronoun, "his track?

"I've thought of that," Snape said impatiently. "Of course I've thought of that. But I can learn something even from what he isn't telling me. It's one of the only sources we have."

_Is it?_ Cassie found herself thinking. _Or do you to tell yourself that, so as not to feel quite so useless? Well, I can certainly understand that._

"What are they like?" she asked cautiously. "The...Death Eater meetings? No, truly," she insisted at his mirthless snort of laughter. "I do want to know."

"And I believe you. It's about what you would expect, really – originality is not one of Voldemort's most pronounced qualities."

Cassie sensed that he was holding something, if not everything, back, but before she could probe further, had she meant to do so, he interrupted her with an oddly intense,

"Later. I will answer all your questions when the time comes, but I cannot – I could not tell you now and go."

"All right," Cassie said, yearning to reach out to him but uncertain of her reception. "But I will hold you to that promise, mind, when – _when_ – you return," she added, a bit tremulously, and tried to mask it with a cough. "When _do_ you return?"

"It may take longer than I anticipate," Snape replied with a small shrug, "But not more than a few days." 

"Then," Cassie said with a shaky smile, "I'll know when to start worrying."

He glanced at her sharply and seemed about to speak but she stopped him with a shake of her head and, much against her better judgement, stepped around the desk to meet him. She hesitated briefly, then reached up to kiss him lightly on the cheek, smiling inwardly at his evident surprise, and turned away with a quiet, "Good luck."

There was a rustle of fabric as Snape said sharply, "Don't turn around."

Cassie hands clenched together, the nails digging painful crescents into her palms.

"You really should go," she said in a tight voice, "Before I say – before I…"

Even as she spoke, she heard the clank of a jar lid and a murmured command as the fire leapt up. She whirled around, desperately, but the room was empty.

"Well," she said to the silence, and then found herself at a loss of words. "I must hold the fort, I suppose," she managed, and then, kicking futilely at the stones paving the floor, "Oh, _curse_ him!"

Cassie was so preoccupied upon leaving the office that she hardly noticed a small, dark shadow dart through the door of the Potions classroom and out of sight.

***

_Of all nights,_ she thought furiously, as icy rain slashed at her face and trickled down below the hood of her cloak, _of all nights, my task must fall on _this_ one. Are there no limits to cosmic injustice?_

Her lips curved up into a bitter smile at the thought, even as she nearly stumbled over a jutting tree root. _No. But better ice than fire_.

The rain showed no sign of letting up, and great rolls of thunder bellowed away in the distance, closer now than they had been when she had set out. Snuck out. If all went well, it would be some time before she was missed – time enough to be well away.

She had paused at the edge of the Forest for a brief look back at the castle, glowing absurdly welcoming in the gathering dark. She had not anticipated the sharp pang of regret she had felt then, or the unsettlingly clear vision of that same castle, going up in the flames.

_Everything burns_, she thought with an exultant sort of despair. _But time _I _shall be the one holding the torch._

She pushed a branch out of her way with a slight excess of force and it ricocheted, slashing her across one cheek. She recoiled, one hand reaching up to touch the narrow wound, pausing in her flight just long enough to hear the oppressive sounds of the darkness, the howling wind, and, somewhere not too far off, howling of a different pitch.

It was bitterly cold; her heart felt near to freezing up inside of chest. Had frozen up, months ago, and now throbbed in renewed pain.

_I am afraid_, she thought, despite herself._ By Morgana, what am I doing here?_

But after only a second she wiped her bloodied hand on the skirt of her cloak and continued on through the wild. 

Not far now. The Hogwarts wards she had grown capable of sensing, if not yet breaching, were growing thin around her, releasing her, however reluctantly, from their hypocritically well-meaning clutches. A few more steps, and she would be free.

Tree branches caught at her skirts, grasping, and she wrenched away with a sharp sound of tearing fabric. _Free_. With a wild laugh she spread her soaking arms and whirled around under the rain and dark, catching the bitter rain drops on her tongue.

_I'm free!_ Half collapsing, breathless, against the rough bark of a tree trunk she drew her wand and, with a quick inhalation against the thrill of magical strength, Disapparated.

The place she arrived at was shockingly warm after the storm. She stumbled without the support of the tree but recovered quickly, glancing around. The room she was in was full of dust, and even in the dim light she could see that it was in an advanced state of disrepair. But there was fire- and candlelight spilling through the half-open doorway in front of her, and she could hear voices. 

There was one in particular that sent cold chills down her spine, but she squared her shoulders against them – she_ had no reason to be afraid_ – and darted forward through into the next room.

The light was too bright for her night-adjusted eyes, but even without it she could not have looked up, rushing in a whirl of wet robes through the gathered crowd. Getting through, she stopped before the velvet chair that sat on a pedestal before the fire and fell on her knees, breathing quickly.

A moment's pause, then she was able to raise her suddenly aching head and draw back the hood of her cloak, wet strands of black hair falling across her pale face.

"Ah," said the smooth, high voice that she both admired and feared, "Welcome, Miss Zabini."

A/N: Sorry this chapter is a bit on the short side – I _do_ try to write faster, but my Muse doesn't always cooperate. As always, feedback is very, very much appreciated!


	6. In the Night

Chapter 6: In the Night

_"People are governed with the head; kindness of heart is little use in chess."   
-- Sébastien-Roch Nicolas de Chamfort_

The birds seemed to have chosen that Wednesday morning to aggregate especially around the West Tower, making as much noise as they could. Unable to ignore them any longer, Cassie woke up with a groan, feeling a pounding headache start behind her eyes as memory flooded back. 

It was the start of the third day since Snape's departure, and he still had not returned. Despite her words, she had started worrying as soon as he'd left, and her anxiety only increased with each hour that went by without news. She felt horribly useless, weak, and inadequate, left here in the citadel like some fairy tale heroine while he-- 

_Well_, she thought, rising with effort and beginning to prepare for the day, _we cannot make our sun stand still – though the Great Hall may be a bit too much to face today._

Accordingly she went down to the common room and called for a tray of tea and blueberry scones before the fire, settled down in a deep blue armchair and persevered in reading her book, now returned to its original state. 

Lisa had not been able to do so – even had she had the skills, she could not Transfigure a book she had not read and hardly looked at. In the excitement – if such a word could be use to describe her feelings – of that night, Cassie had entirely forgotten the hedgehog, only to find it underneath her bed the next morning with a note attached in scrupulous school-girl hand: 

_Dear Miss Clemmens – I was going to give him (it is a him, isn't it? one can't really be sure with hedgehogs) to Professor Sprout, but I thought you might be able to unTransfigure (is that a word? must look it up) him and get your book back. If not, you must remind me to buy you a new one!  
Yours sincerely, Lisa M. Turpin _

_P.S. Would you still like to meet with Professor Vector and me? In spite of the hedgehog? I'm available next Wednesday after dinner. _

It had brought an unexpected smile to her face that morning, and even now, Cassie felt lighter remembering it. If Blaise Zabini was the worst, Lisa was certainly one of her best students. A class of Lisas – and Mandys too, as long as they were seated far enough apart – and teaching would be an unalloyed joy. 

But speaking of Blaise – 

"Good morning, Cassiopeia," Professor Flitwick said cheerfully, perching in the chair across from hers. "Not going down to breakfast?" 

"No," Cassie said, and added truthfully, "I've got a terrible headache." 

"Oh!" he said, instantly concerned. "Would you like to go down to the hospital wing? Or perhaps I could cast something –" 

"No," she said with a valiant attempt at a smile. "Thank you. I think I'll manage." _If he's out there facing Merlin knows what danger, the least I can deal with is a headache,_ she thought, somewhat illogically. 

"Would you like me to handle all the classes today?" Flitwick asked solicitously. 

"No, I'd prefer something to take my mind off of it," Cassie replied, and did not specify whether she meant the headache, or something else entirely. 

***

"Good morning, Miss Clemmens," Pansy Parkinson said sweetly on her way to her desk. The prospect of failing Charms had caused her to react in typically Slytherin style, but Cassie wasn't fooled. As soon as the girl was seated she immediately began a whispered discourse on the unfairness of her life in general and Cassie in particular, addressed with special emphasis in the direction of Draco Malfoy. 

"Good morning, everyone," Cassie began with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. "We shall begin our study of wards today, beginning with a very simple personal ward. Now, can anyone tell me the function of a personal ward?" 

The Slytherins stared at her listlessly. Tess Hammond looked up briefly from the note she was writing, only to redip her quill in a pot of lavender ink. Finally, Draco Malfoy answered in a tone of utmost boredom, hardly bothering to raise his hand, "They're supposed to protect you from harm." 

_WARDS:_, Cassie's wand wrote resignedly on the board, _Shield or Protect._ "Personal wards, in particular," she said, "protect you against unwelcome spells or things of natural origin, such as pathogens." 

There was a beat of silence, and she was about to turn around to note down this new concept when, defying all expectations, Gregory Goyle burst out, "Like that fire curse Zabini cast on Hammond second year? That was _wicked_! She had boils all over her –" 

"_Goyle_!" Tess hissed, muttering a few more words under her breath, which caused Cassie to strongly suspect that, unless his knowledge of wards was wider than it seemed, all was no longer right with the back of the boy's head. 

"Speaking of that – speaking of Zabini," Malfoy interrupted with a lazy smile. "Where is she this fine morning? Slept in, perhaps?" 

"She wasn't in the dormitory last night," Pansy chipped in with a titter. "Wouldn't have thought her the type." 

"Hmm," said Draco, his smile sharpening, "I wonder what she could _possibly_ be doing?" 

"I could venture a guess," Tess Hammond muttered bitterly. 

"Do you think so?" Malfoy asked, looking smug. "I do not." 

And Cassie, attempting, somewhat abstractedly, to restore order to the class, was for once inclined to agree. 

***

"Now, Selene, we've been through this – I _can't_ be Head of any House, especially not now. As much as I love Ravenclaw, consoling broken-hearted fourth-years would interfere far too much with my research." 

"But, Verity, you would be so much more suited –" 

"Nonsense. Also piffle, poppycock, and pshaw. You'll be fine, and Cassie will help you, won't you, Cassie?" 

"Hmm?" Cassie said, looking at Professor Vector vacantly over her book. 

"Oh, come, it can't be _that_ interesting," Vector said with some impatience. "You know most of them die at various points." 

"Do they?" 

"Well, of course, they can't _live_ with so much emotional baggage, can they? Now, why don't you tell us what's on your mind, dear? You've been staring at that book for the past hour and haven't turned a page." 

"I'm worried," Cassie admitted. "Have any of you seen Blaise Zabini about the past few days?" 

"Not I," Professor Vector said, a sharply etched line appearing on her forehead. "Selene?" 

"Now that I think of it, she wasn't at her Astronomy class on Monday night," said Sinistra with some concern. "Do you think something may have happened?" 

"Perhaps not," said Vector with a token effort at reassurance, then turned briskly back to Cassie. "As her Head of House, Snape would be the one to ask, of course, but he must be on one of his ingredient-purchasing trips, though why he needs them so close to the end of the year I'm sure I couldn't say. You could go to the Headmaster." 

"I think I shall," Cassie said thoughtfully. "Thank you." 

"Take care of yourself, dear," Vector said, and just before she was out of earshot Cassie heard her add, "I don't know about you, but I'm worried about our Cassie. Spending far too much time with Snape, in my opinion – it must be getting to her." 

She had to smile a little at that, climbing up to Dumbledore's office. She had some trouble, as the staircases were at their most changeable – almost, she thought, as though the office did not want to be found. 

Anywhere else, the idea could be easily dismissed, but in Hogwarts… She shivered, her eye caught by one of the moving paintings, from which a harried-looking ghost was just emerging. In Hogwarts, anything was possible. 

Something about the thought triggered a connection in her mind, but she did not have leisure to pursue it – there was the gargoyle at the foot of the stairs leading up to Dumbledore's rooms. Taking a deep breath, Cassie said the password and went up. 

***

Apart from its owner, the only other presence in the office was that of a faint strain of song, whose source Cassie could not identify. A single candelabrum stood on the desk, lighting the various objects on it and casting all else into deepening shadow. Outside, night was not so much falling as gently slithering into place. 

"Good evening, Miss Clemmens," said Albus Dumbledore. 

Cassie closed the door, and found herself unexpectedly unable to speak. 

"Please," said the Headmaster, "sit down." When she did so, still silent, he added gently, "Something concerns you, perhaps?" She nodded. "Well, what is it?" 

"It's about Blaise Zabini," she said, finally finding her voice. "And…Professor Snape." 

"Ah," he said. "You realize, then, what has occurred. What do you make of it?" 

"Well, I…I cannot help thinking," Cassie said quietly, after a moment's thought, "that I could have guessed what she was planning. That there should have been, there must have been something I could have done." 

"Do not feel guilty, Cassiopeia," said Dumbledore. "Even the best of us are not omniscient." 

"And so," she said, feeling a hint of relief at handing over the dreadful responsibility, "what is to be done?" 

"There is not much that can be done," said Dumbledore. 

She looked up sharply. His eyes behind the half-moon spectacles were very grave. 

"Not much that can be done?" Cassie repeated, feeling cold. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean that, with the way matters stand, we have not the people or resources for a…rescue mission. We could, of course, call in the Ministry, but you must see that that would do more harm than good." 

Cassie was left momentarily speechless. The idea of Dumbledore powerless to help, unable to do _anything_, had never so much as entered her mind. But _was_ he unable or…? 

She tilted her head and studied him. The wizened face looked sad, yes, as though witnessing a funeral, but not…not shocked. There was not the numb expression of one dealing with an unexpected blow which she was sure must show on her own face. 

"You knew," she said, before she could think better of it. "You knew this would happen." 

The Headmaster sighed heavily. "I feared." 

"For how long?" 

"It was always a possibility. Severus was aware of the risks." 

"Headmaster," Cassie said, forcing herself to hold his gaze, to keep her back straight, to not give in to the tide of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm her, "I do not claim to know him half as well as you do, but I do know that he feels he owes you his life – his very soul. And that whatever you asked him, _whatever_ the risks, he would have done it." 

"Cassiopeia, I assure you that I care very deeply about Severus's welfare." 

"Yes, I'm certain that you do care about him, and the other professors, and the students, and everyone else here. But it's never been about our welfare, has it? It's about—" _What am I saying?_ "It's about winning." 

_He looks so very, very tired. Perhaps I'm mistaken. I hope I'm mistaken._

"My dear," he said, without the least hint of anger at the accusation, "what you are saying is not wrong, and it speaks very highly of you. But we are not living an ethical conundrum or a morality play – this is a real war, in which real choices have to be made. And, sometimes, none of the choices presented are good and one must choose the least evil. It is just like –" 

_Don't say it,_ Cassie thought desperately, gripping the arms of her chair. _Please don't say it, not now when you have so nearly convinced me. Please –_

"Just like," continued Dumbledore, unheeding of her turmoil, "a game of chess." 

***

She could not remember, later, exactly what had happened next. She must have made some apology, appeared sad but resigned. She recalled a sympathetic offer of tea, which she rejected, and the exchange of a few final words, before she emerged from the cosy light of Dumbledore's office into the dark corridor and could breathe freely again. 

She went, automatically, in the direction of the West Tower. Except for a few third years studying before the fire, the Ravenclaw common room was empty. She sat at her usual desk, to which she had not returned in several days. The aged mahogany surface was still covered in the books she had left there, when the summons from Snape had come. Cassie rested her elbows on the desk and her head in her hands, and thought. 

It was clear that something had to be done. Whatever Dumbledore had said, however easy it would be to accept his verdict and give in, she could not possibly abandon Severus to the enemy. Because it would not be just, and because she valued his friendship, and because… because… 

_Because your analogy, the analogy you taught him, does not hold true, Headmaster. It cannot hold true. Life is _not_ a game of chess – how can a black and white board take into account friendship, and loyalty, and…and love?_

It came, after all, as a surprise. She spread her hands flat on the table and breathed in deeply, and felt a small smile curve up her lips. It was true. She was increasingly certain that it was true, and was determined that nothing, not the Dark Lord himself, would prevent her from telling him. 

So, something had to be done. What? Cassie quickly discarded the vision that came to mind, of sweeping in (on a white horse, preferably) to Voldemort's lair, wand at the ready. As well as completely impractical, that was not, and had never been, her way. 

_I am a Ravenclaw_, she thought, glancing around the common room. She was a Ravenclaw, and a Ravenclaw's best weapon was…books? 

Experimentally, she reached over and pulled one at random from the stack on her desk. A textbook on wards that she had used to prepare for her last lesson – not particularly promising. She tried the next, and found that it was one of the stack of physics books Lisa had returned to her. She laid it on the desk, examined the glossy, surrealistic cover, and let it fall open. 

_"…4. There is a finite probability that particles may "tunnel" through or make a quantum leap through impenetrable barriers."_

Now that sounded promising, if improbable. She scanned down the page and read further. 

_"One simple experiment that demonstrates the correctness of quantum tunnelling starts by placing an electron in a box. Normally, the electron does not have enough energy to penetrate the walls of the box. If classical physics is correct, then the electron would never leave the box. However, according to quantum theory, the electron's probability wave will spread through the box and seep into the outside world. The seepage through the wall can be calculated precisely with the Schröndiger wave equation; that is, there is a small probability that the electron's position is somewhere outside the box. Another way of saying this is that there is a finite but small probability that the electron will tunnel its way through the barrier (the wall of the box) and emerge from the box. _

_…This also means that there is a finite, calculable probability that "impossible" events will occur. For example, I can calculate the probability that I will unexpectedly disappear and tunnel through the earth and reappear in Hawaii. (The time we should have to wait for such an event to occur, it should be pointed out, is longer than the lifetime of the universe. So we cannot use quantum physics to tunnel to vacation spots around the world.)"_

Promising indeed. Cassie sat back and thought very hard, trying to remember each word Lisa had said to her about possibilities and hedgehogs. 

It was ridiculous. Impossible. There could be no practical application, certainly none for the problem facing her. The white horse idea had been better. 

She stood up and picked up all the books from her desk, leaving only the wards textbook, and, staggering a little, rushed out of the common room, through the corridor, and down a flight of stairs, to end up in front of a familiar door. 

She knocked, and it was opened by a dishevelled witch who squinted at her through a pair of thick reading glasses. 

"Professor Vector," Cassie said breathlessly, "I understand Arithmancy deals with probabilities." 


	7. Power

Chapter 7: Power

_"Here's what," said Korneev. "I declare that we are dealing with a suspension of the law of cause and effect. Therefore, there is but one conclusion - it's all a hallucination and we should all get up, get in line, and depart singing to a psychiatrist. Form a line!"_

_-- Monday Begins on Saturday_

"My dear," said Verity Vector, for what she doubted was the last time, "you are quite mad."

"Can it be done?" Cassie asked. Her blue eyes were shining.

"Well…" Vector paused, considering. "I suppose so, yes. But," she added, at a hint of excited movement from her companion, "it would take months – years."

"We don't have months," said Cassie, briskly waving away the objection. "We have hours."

"Why?" asked Vector and, in a clipped, concise summary, leaving out what she suspected were the most interesting details, Cassie told her. When she had finished, the Arithmancy professor was left staring at her, saying after a moment, "Severus…?"

"Is getting to me, I know," Cassie finished. She was smiling in a way that made Vector, with the benefit of an extra fifty-odd years of experience, extremely suspicious. "You can ask the Headmaster, you know – though I'd prefer if you didn't."

_I can't believe I am agreeing to this_, Vector thought, and, settling her spectacles more firmly on her nose, bent over the book the younger woman presented her.

***

Some time later, there was a knock on the door, soon followed by the person of Lisa Turpin, who burst into the room in a whirl of damp school robes, proclaiming,

"Professor Vector, you'll never guess what I—"

She stopped, noting first the presence of Cassie and then the fact that neither professor had so much as looked up at her entrance.

"Professor Vector?" she repeated, coming over to the desk where they were sitting and looking over Cassie's shoulder.

"Lisa?" Vector said absently, glancing up from a parchment full of figures. "I'm sorry, but we're going to have to postpone our meeting."

"Why?" asked Lisa. She was looking at the equations with growing interest. "What's going on?"

No one answered her. Lisa Turpin, a model member of Ravenclaw house, did not like going unanswered.

"Look," she said, "whatever it is, I know those books. I've read those books. Maybe I'll be able to help."

"I'm sorry, Lisa, but –" began Professor Vector, at the same as Cassie cut in with, "No. She's right. It's worth a try."

Lisa gave her a sharp, bemused look, but, when they made room for her, bent over the papers eagerly. 

"This is _amazing_," she said after a moment. "I'd never even _thought_… You realize that if this works, it could replace Apparition? You could not only travel _anywhere_, you could make _anyone _travel anywhere, and no ward known to wizard would be able to stop you! The implications –"

"We can consider the implications later, surely?" said Cassie, sounding strained. "Right now, it's very important that we make this work, and quickly."

"Why?" Lisa asked. "Is Professor Snape is trouble?" 

As soon as the question left her lips, both teachers switched their attention from their work to her, surprise and suspicion written on their faces.

"Oh, honestly," she said, offended. "I'm not stupid, you know. I don't know what's going on and I don't think I _want_ to, but it's clear that something is, and that it involves Professor Snape. Well, I've nothing against him or his class, so I'll be happy to help. Oh, and Miss Clemmens," she added, pointing, "I think you've dropped a variable."

To Lisa's gratification, that seemed to settle it, and they worked in near silence for three quarters of an hour, broken only by the scratching of quills and occasional quiet consultation. At the end of that period, there was another knock on the door, which was opened by Mandy Brocklehurst, wet and muddy in Quidditch robes, with her blond hair coming down around her shoulders.

"Hey, Lisa," she said. "I knew you'd be here."

Her forehead furrowed warily when, turning to Cassie as seemed right, Lisa asked in an undertone, "Can Mandy help? We'll need a lot of magical power for this to work, and she knows nearly as much as I do."

"Alright," Cassie said, and added with a small, rueful smile, "The more the merrier."

***

"Are you certain about this?" Vector asked, as soon as Lisa had drawn Mandy into a corner to fill her in. "You could be putting both girls in considerable danger."

"Do you think so?" Cassie asked, deflating suddenly. "I hadn't even thought…"

"On the other hand, you could say that we are all in considerable danger already, and this new idea of yours could help. And it is true that we would not have gotten far on our own. In any case, there's no help for it now."

"Quantum Apparition!" Mandy exclaimed for the corner, clapping her hands together. "Brilliant! Now," she added, tossing her scarf across a chair, "could you please repeat everything you just said, a bit more slowly?"

"Yes, well," said Lisa, looking rather proud. "You know how a wave can be thought of as a particle, and vice versa? So, if you picture an object as a wave, then that wave will be strongest where the object is most likely to be found. What we need to do is sort of _extend_ Professor Snape's wave, so that it becomes strongest here. And then it will become more likely for him to be here, rather than wherever he is, and he…will be. I don't think," she concluded, rubbing the bridge of her nose, "that I'm doing a very good job of this."

"No, no, I'm following you," Mandy said reassuringly. "But how are you going to do that?"

"Well, according to my theory, it's what we've been doing all along, as magic. Maybe that's even what Apparition _is_, but no one's thought of it this way before, although I doubt it. Portkeys do need some investigation though. Anyway, we're working out the Arithmantical equations for all this, which is difficult because we don't know where the Professor is, but it should come together soon. And after that, there'll be a spell."

***

There needed to be a spell, and Cassie needed to write it. Professor Vector had helped her as much as she was able, but her specialty was theoretical Arithmancy and not the sorts of advanced Charms that Cassie would need.

It turned out to be a dreadful, power inefficient hodgepodge, including everything from the spells cast on Portkeys to some Transfiguration. She frowned, scribbling down the last line and said, "It's not very elegant, but it should work. That or destroy the universe as we know it."

"Could that happen?" Mandy asked, wide-eyed.

"It's hardly likely," said Professor Vector.

"'Likely'," Mandy said darkly, "is not a word I'd put a lot of trust into, just now."

"Don't worry," Cassie said as she checked over her work. "It'll be alright. In any case, being the centre of the spell, I'm the focus of most of the danger."

She felt strangely numb, after the exhilaration of that first discovery. Untrustworthy word or not, what was most likely was that this insanity would not work, and probably backfire upon them all. There was even the possibility, growing cold in the pit of her stomach, that she had been reading matters wrongly all along. That Blaise had not been spying on them the night of Severus's departure and, wherever she had gone, it was not to relate what she had found to the Dark Lord. That Severus was detained for some other reason, and, even if what she was planning worked, he would not thank her for the "rescue". In this word of probabilities gone wrong, anything was entirely possible, including the fact that she had truly lost her mind.

"Have some coffee, dear," said the oddly gentle voice of Professor Vector, accompanied by a hot mug being pressed into her hands.

"Never drink it," Cassie said weakly, shaking her head.

"Well, you're drinking it now," said Vector, sounding more like herself. "There's good old Firewhiskey in it," she added, as Cassie took a tentative sip and choked. "All of it, now. It'll hold you up through the worst of it, and afterwards it won't matter." _One way or the other._ It did not have to be said.

"Where are Mandy and Lisa?" Cassie asked. She shook her head, and when her vision did not clear, realized that most of the candles in the room had died, and the fire was emitting more heat than light. It was very quiet, and she suddenly wondered what time it was.

Vector left her side and moved about the room, relighting the candles with quick spells as she spoke. "They've gone up to the West Tower for a change of clothes and something to eat. They'll need to be at their best, you know. When they get back, we'll be able to begin. Unless, of course," she went on, not looking at Cassie, "you'd like to attempt it now, by ourselves." 

"We couldn't," Cassie said painfully. "If I had more time, perhaps the spell could be fixed to use up less power, but for now it's imp…unfeasible."

"You could always ask Filius to –"

"No. He's away looking at places to settle after leaving Hogwarts, and, in any case, he is retiring and you know that he has done far more than his share. I would not burden him."

"Very noble," Vector said with a sniff. "And what will you do, I wonder, if by some miracle this enterprise of yours actually works?"

"Faint," said Cassie succinctly. 

***

When Lisa and Mandy returned, they were more subdued that Cassie had ever seen them. Mandy's hair was tied up and she had a pair of glasses on her nose, which she used only in extremity, and Lisa's wand appeared recently polished. But when questioned they smiled gamely enough and even made some uneasy jokes. 

"Well," said Professor Vector, in the same tone of voice with which she started Arithmancy lessons, "shall we begin?"

"We should," Cassie said, her fingers doing a nervous dance on the tabletop. "There's really not a moment to lose."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Mandy asked, glancing between them. "We can't manipulate _time_ yet, can we?"

"Well, actually," Lisa began, her eyes brightening.

"Time turners!" Mandy exclaimed, catching her look. "Well, it's a comfort, isn't it? Even if we mess up terribly, we could always go back and fix it."

"Well, actually," Lisa said again, this time sounding slightly annoyed, "it would be impossible to –"

"Girls," Professor Vector said sternly, although there was a hint of smile about her eyes. "Take your positions, please." She motioned to the space cleared in the middle of the office by a table pushed to one side. "Cassie in the middle there, and we in a triangle around her – Lisa and Mandy on either side, and myself in the front. Make sure the distances are even. Alright?"

"All set," Lisa said with a reasonable imitation of cheerfulness, her hands smoothing the pleats in the skirt she wore under her school robes.

"Set," Mandy chimed in, drawing her wand. 

Cassie did the same, tapping it lightly against the parchment in her hand, and took a deep breath.

"Cassiopeia, my dear," said Vector at the last moment, "what are you _doing_?"

"Changing the rules," she answered, as she might not have done had her thoughts been fully present, and then began.

In all her life, Cassie had never used a spell that demanded so much, and could only feel grateful that she was not doing so alone. She felt it draining away but also surrounding her, almost too strong to bear. 

As the words came, she forced her mind blank of all causes and effects, of everything but what she needed to do. Behind the lids of her closed eyes she saw the magic coalesce into a swirling vortex of ultraviolet that eclipsed all else in the room, spinning faster and faster and faster still until everything _shifted_ and the world collapsed.

It was quite an astonishing sensation. Afterwards she could remember only that brief astonishment, never the faintest trace of fear. For a moment, the entire universe resolved before her like a multidimensional, many coloured chessboard, and she paused to watch it, awestruck, before reminding herself of the task at hand. Then it was only a speck of infinitely bright light behind her as she moved incredibly, impossibly fast, and then stopped and could see nothing else, for the vortex was once again surrounding her.

Then, slowly, she began to feel the connections, like silvery threads of extremely fine string extending from her fingers. She tugged a few, experimentally, but none felt truly right, except…Yes, there it was, vibrating slightly in discord around the ring finger of her left hand. She pulled on it very gently, slowly folding the finger in against her palm, biting her lip in concentration. For a moment, just near the end, she was certain that it would break, irrevocably. But the thread proved exceptionally strong and only stretched further and further, and surely it was at its limit now and would snap before…

And then, as amazing and inevitable as the folding of a tesseract, the vortex collapsed, and she was back in Professor Vector's office, if, indeed, she had ever left it, with roaring in her ears and a dark shape at her feet.

She felt, at first, as though waking from a bewildering dream, dimly aware only of a strange rawness in her skin and with no clear memory of what had occurred. As soon the tatters of it fell back into place, Cassie dropped to her knees besides the body that was now lying on the floor of the office, and had not been before.

It was hard to see for the large, dark spots before her eyes, but her hands found tangled hair and pushed it aside, and the face revealed she knew instantly. It remained only to rest her cheek against his chest and feel the unsteady but clear heartbeat through the torn robes, and then to raise her head, vision further clouded by tears, and say a single word.

"Safe."

After came more tears, and "hurrays", and a great deal of noise, all of which was very easy to ignore in favour of a pair of dark eyes opening near hers.

"Cassiopeia?" he said after a moment. "What on earth…?"

"It's alright," she said, answering the unspoken question rather than the spoken one, and batting away the irritating spots. "Everything is alright."

"I am," said Snape, and his voice, she was relieved and amazed to notice, was just the slightest bit sardonic, "exceedingly glad to hear it."

Which caused her to laugh through her tears and throw her arms around him and hold on as tightly as she could, unheeding of injuries, until a wave of dizziness she could not attribute to Snape's nearness washed over her and she was forced to pull back, one hand reaching up to her temple.

"Miss Clemmens!" she heard Lisa cry out, breaking off a victory dance to rush to her side, and then, with a last conscious thought to acknowledge the irony, Cassie lost her battle with the spots and fainted dead away.


	8. To Find a Stronger Faith

Chapter 8: To Find a Stronger Faith

_"Ah, love, let us be true  
To one another! for the world, which seems  
To lie before us like a land of dreams,  
So various, so beautiful, so new,  
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,  
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;  
And we are here as on a darkling plain  
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,  
Where ignorant armies clash by night."  
-- Mathew Arnold, "Dover Beach"_

  
Cassie Clemmens sighed loudly in frustration, and reached up to jab another pin into her hair, which promptly collapsed in spite of it and seemed determined to remain that way. _Caused by some strange flaw in the laws of physics, perhaps, probably having to do with Arithmancy or possible hedgehogs…_

She did not want to think about possible hedgehogs. She felt bruised, body and soul, and what she wanted to do most was crawl back into bed and forget about everything, for the duration of that tired, grey day. 

There was much to be grateful for, of course. The man she loved was safe and, after a night in the hospital wing, sound, and so was she. In fact, no one had been harmed by her insane idea, and, whatever doubts she had, this was surely in the nature of a miracle. 

It was only that there were so many things to be faced, and seeing Snape at last was not the least of them. She had a great deal to say to him on many topics, but sooner or later what lay between them had to be resolved and while she did want it to be, desperately, she doubted that it would be very easy or painless. 

In fact, it was all likely to be quite difficult, and crawling into bed was beginning to seem more and more attractive. 

_But, alas, that's not an option. And, in any case,_ she said to herself, reaching for another pin, _I've managed to defeat the greatest Dark wizard of our time, in a small way. Nothing should be much of a challenge after that._ That earned a small inner chuckle._ Now what I need is to stop being ridiculous and have a cup of –_

"Good morning." 

She whirled around, but it was only the Grey Lady, floating in gracefully through the wall beside her bed. 

"How do you do," Cassie said politely, calling a truce with her hair and stepping away from the mirror. 

"Oh, nothing much out of the ordinary," the ghost answered. _Her_ hair, Cassie noted absently, looked flawless, but then that was hardly surprising. "Near the end of term, you know, always such a ruckus. But it is a relief to have Professor Flitwick back." 

"Is he?" she said, finding a smile and realizing that she meant it. 

"Yes, and he'd like to see you in his study for breakfast, if you have no prior engagements." 

"None to speak of," Cassie said gravely, and followed the ghost down the stairs. 

At his door, Flitwick received her cheerfully, and before she could so much as say hello she was inside and ensconced in an armchair with a very welcome cup of tea in her hands. 

"Now," said the Professor, "I hear you've had some excitement while I was away." 

Cassie blinked. "Well, yes…" 

"Oh, don't worry, my dear. The Headmaster thought the Heads of House should know all the facts, but it is to go no further than that. Lisa and Mandy have given their word. Quite brilliant, what you did, by the way." 

"Then the Headmaster has been informed?" 

"Yes," Flitwick said over his shoulder, retrieving a tray of toast and jam from the mantle, "Verity went to him immediately after you were taken to the hospital wing." 

"And…how did he react?" 

"I couldn't say, but I expect he'd like to see you this morning." 

"Then I shall go," Cassie said, not at all relishing the prospect. "Thank you. And how was your trip?" 

"Well, do you know," Professor Flitwick said, still fiddling with the tea things, "I've found the most delightful retirement cottage in Kent – close to the sea and with fields all around and…Why, what's the matter?" 

"Professor," Cassie said, sniffling futilely, "come here," and when he did she threw her arms around him and bent down to kiss one wrinkled cheek. "The walls of Hogwarts will collapse without you." 

"Oh, I very much doubt that," Flitwick said, laughing and patting her back. 

"_I_ will collapse without you," she added quietly. 

"And I very much doubt that, too," he said, drawing back to meet her eyes. "You have the strength in you, Cassiopeia. I have seen it. And I pity all misbehaving Slytherins when you learn to make full use of it." 

"Thank you," Cassie said sincerely, dabbing at her eyes with a somewhat ragged black handkerchief, and, at his urging, drank her tea. 

***

The meeting with Dumbledore went as she'd expected. She emerged from it somewhat shakily, her face pained with smiling, and, without letting herself think about it too much, went down to the dungeons. 

Snape's private rooms, where she expected to find him ("resting", under threat from Madam Pomfrey), proved to be no different from what she thought the Slytherin common room would be like, with few personal touches. The walls were stone and so was the floor, relieved by a dark square of a carpet. There were a few hard green armchairs by the fire, several full bookshelves, and a desk. The bedroom, half seen through a tapestry-covered door, proved the same. She didn't know why she felt surprised. 

"No rattling chains, then?" she asked lightly. 

"Ah," said Snape, rising with, she noted, a hint of stiffness from his seat in one of the armchairs, "I rather thought you'd find your way here sooner or later." 

"Well, I did have to hold the Bloody Baron at wand-point…" She trailed off, smiling a little, and found that he had taken a few steps toward her. "I hope you're feeling better?" 

"Yes. I was not so very badly off – my capture came just before a major strike by the Order, which served to distract them. I hear it was quite a large battle – some Muggles had to be memory charmed." 

"As simple as that, then?" Cassie said sceptically, observing gauntness of his face and the lines of strain under his eyes. 

"No," Snape said slowly. "Not simple at all. Blaise Zabini has defected." 

"I know." 

"Foolish girl," he said with barely-suppressed anger that she did not think was directed fully at Blaise. "I thought I could keep her in line. Her parents' deaths hurt her, of course, though she refused to admit it, but she had never seemed the type who would cross. That display of temper second year should have warned me, but when I realized…it was too late." 

"Don't blame yourself," Cassie said, the words feeling inadequate. "I know there are certain… parallels, but Blaise made her own choice in the end, and I don't know if any of us could have stopped her. She'll make a dangerous enemy." 

"She was there, when I was captured, looking so…triumphant. I never realized she hated me that much." 

"I think that, in a way, she hated everyone." She stopped, lost in thought for a moment, and then went on, "In any case, it's out of our hands. You won't distract me with Blaise for long, you know. You made me a promise, before you left, and I mean to see you keep it. It will eat away at you otherwise, and you'll be no better off than before." 

"I'll keep that in mind." He looked at her for a long moment, his face unreadable, and added, "And you? No ill effects?" 

"Just a few burns, Madam Pomfrey made short work of them. I doubt I'll be trying that again any time soon, though." Another few steps, and he was standing before her, so close she had only to stretch out her hand. It was suddenly very difficult to think of more things to say. 

"I trust you won't need to," said Snape, his voice low and warm, and quite suddenly it seemed that he had stretched out his hand, and she was in his arms, and he was kissing her. 

It was nothing at all like the brief contact in the West Tower, nothing, and she found herself clutching hard at his shoulders to keep from fainting again, which was the very _last_ thing she wanted to do. 

When he released her, she kept her hold of them, not at all trusting her feet to remain steady. Her cheeks were burning, and she heard an odd, shallow sort of gasping which seemed to be her breathing. 

"Well," he said, and for all the casualness of his tone she was gratified to note than he, too, was somewhat short of breath. "That's better." 

Finding it hard to think, let alone speak, Cassie simply nodded, managing after a moment, "How did you _know_?" 

"I didn't," Snape admitted. His dark eyes were glinting with amusement, which was a novel phenomenon and one she very much looked forward to exploring. "It was something of an educated guess. Quite useful when inventing potions." 

"I hope," Cassie said, her head resting against his chest and her shoulders shaking with laughter, "that your potions turn out half as successful." 

A finger under her chin tipped it up, and he met her eyes squarely when he asked, with a barely detectable hint of uncertainty, "Successful, then?" 

"Yes." It was difficult to impart all of her complicated feelings into a single word but she thought she must have managed it, because what followed was a small smile that made her heart flip over and another lingering kiss, which returned it to its original position. 

"However," Snape went on conversationally, "you do need to consider –" 

"Not again?" Cassie said with fond exasperation. "I _have_ considered," she went on seriously. "I think my choice is reasonably clear. In any case," she added, her eyes on the dark fabric of his robes, "you'll have to abandon the spying now, so you'll be here at Hogwarts, safe and…" 

"_Ineffectual_ is the word, I believe." 

"Hardly that! You'll still be teaching, which _is_ important, you know, and although some of the Slytherins won't trust you now I doubt they'll do anything overt here. And you'll keep making potions for the Order, with as much help as I'll be able to provide, and I'll try to teach the future of the wizarding world all I know of Charms, and eventually this war will end and life will return to normal." She glanced up. "Why are you smiling? Am I being thoughtless and idealistic again?" 

A light brush of his lips against her hair. "After having my life saved by thoughtless idealism, I would not wish to appear ungrateful. Thank you, by the way." 

"Don't mention it," said Cassie. "I was working from purely selfish motives." 

"You'll make a Slytherin yet." 

"Only by…" She stopped herself in time – it was far, _far_ too soon – and said instead, pulling back slightly, "But, however entrancing it is to wander unchecked through a garden of bright images, there _was_ something else I'd wanted to speak to you about." 

"Then shall we sit down?" 

The space between the armchairs – they really _were_ as hard as they looked – was far too wide, but Cassie thought that it was perhaps better that way. She did not want to be distracted from what she was about to say. 

"Tell me," she began after a moment, "does Professor Dumbledore play chess?" 

"The best player I've ever met." 

"I rather thought so." She paused. "They're more alike than they seem, aren't they? Both masters of the same game." 

"Yes," Snape said, all levity gone. "But one is Light and the other Dark, all the same. Never forget that." 

"You're right, of course. I was simply disconcerted, that's all. He meant it all to happen, you know," she said abruptly. "For you to be discovered, and for me to find some way to rescue you. Now he has both of us, and a new tool in Quantum Apparition, as Mandy called it. Voldemort will learn to counter it, no doubt, but not for some time yet. 

"I can't help wondering how long he'd been planning it all – when he asked us to go on that walk back in November, certainly. Perhaps even when he hired me, knowing your past with my father. Or even before that!" She sighed, and looked up to meet his eyes. "I can't like it." 

"Of course not. No one enjoys being a pawn in another's game. But would you rather be the one whose hand moves the pieces?" 

"No," Cassie said, thinking. "Not for anything." 

"Then you are left with a dilemma." 

"Not much of one. I can't leave this place – it means far, far too much to me now, and I do still believe in what he stands for, even if I can't agree with his methods. But there seems to be no other way out of this game." 

"You can keep playing. Rather than try to control it, as I have done these past years, live your life as though it didn't exist. And the war will end, as you say, and you will be free to do whatever you like." 

"You know, I used to think I knew exactly what that was," Cassie said reflectively, getting up to stand in front of the dying fire. "To come here, and live in peace for the rest of my life. Now, I can't even imagine the future, except that I know I want you to be there. But I suppose it'll come all the same, whether I imagine it or not." 

"I love you." 

It was said suddenly and very softly, so that she almost mistrusted her hearing at first. She looked down at him, sitting at ease in the chair with just a hint of tension about his posture -- the spare frame, the fine black hair resting at his shoulders, the strongly-marked features that could never be called handsome, and, last of all, his eyes, which, beneath the weariness and recent pain, held a shining spark of joy. 

"Well, that's very good to know," Cassie said with a small smile, and a complete lack of quotation. "Because I love you too, you see." 

And the astonishing thing was that it proved quite simple, almost inevitable, as though even the untried girl who had arrived at Hogwarts with grandiose dreams and expectations had been destined to end there, just like that, saying those words. And in that, she was happy to note, the only hand at play was that of Fate. 

"Severus?" she said thoughtfully, fingering an object on the mantle. 

"Hmm?" 

She smiled, her face turned away from him. "Would you care for a game of chess?" 

"Not bloody likely." 

"Good." She ended on a gasp, as an imperious hand caught her waist and pulled her down, and was surprised to discover that, when shared, the green armchairs proved to be quite comfortable after all. 

It was perhaps a strange way to realize it, but right there, at that moment, Cassiopeia Clemmens felt that she had found her true home at last. 

  


THE END

  
**Endnotes**

This is my attempt to collect and credit the quotes and references I've used in this story, along with any other notes. I can't claim to have caught them all, but hopefully most. 

Chapter 1

_A Jarring Lyre_ – the chapter titles all come from part 96 of Tennyson's _In Memoriam_, which is absolutely beautiful and has a great deal to do with Snape as I see him. 

_Paul Emmanuel, Madame Beck, Lucy_ – all characters from Charlotte Bronte's _Villette_, which also stars a beginning teacher and an enigmatic professor, though that's about as far as the similarity goes. 

_"mad, bad, and dangerous to know"_ – said of Byron by Lady Caroline Lamb (some versions of the fic have a typo – "mad, mad, etc." which I've tried to fix) 

_So your defect is to hate everybody _and_ to wilfully misunderstand them_ – from _Pride and Prejudice_, which I can never resist quoting :) 

Chapter 2

_I would give you my soul in a blackberry pie, and a knife to cut it with… Where had she read that?_ – well, _I_ read it in Dorothy Dunnett's _The Disorderly Knights_. It's a wonderful line, and while I might wish I'd written it, I'm just quoting. 

Chapter 3

_"but pity, I suppose, stayed his hand"_ – this would be around the time that I was going to see Lord of the Rings obsessively, and I'm sorry for any visions of Snape as Gollum this occasioned ;) 

_"I don't know what lies behind your unshakable trust in me, but take care."_ – I must admit this entire speech was inspired by one Lymond makes to Philippa in somewhat different circumstances in, once again, _The Disorderly Knights_. But for a few phrases it should be sufficiently different from the original though. 

Chapter 5

_"'If all else perished…'"_ – just to clarify, this is from Emily Bronte's _Wuthering Heights_ (I don't know what's up with all the Bronte references, really – there's no hidden purpose to it), which Cassie is reading in this chapter – until it gets turned into a hedgehog, of course. 

_But better ice than fire_. – one of several references to the way Blaise's parents died, which had a profound effect on her. I hope to write a story explaining all that (along with one about what happens to Blaise after this) sometime soon. 

Chapter 6

_we cannot make our sun stand still_ – Andrew Marvell, "To His Coy Mistress": "Thus, though we cannot make our sun/ Stand still, so we shall make him run." 

_"Nonsense. Also piffle, poppycock, and pshaw."_ – as an observant reader noted, this is a nod to Connie Willis's marvelous _To Say Nothing of the Dog_. After all, Vector's first name _is_ Verity. 

_There is a finite probability that particles may "tunnel"…_ – Both passages come from Michio Kaku's book _Hyperspace_, which is full of other cool science stuff, and quite readable to boot. Check it out if you get the chance. 

Chapter 7

_Monday Begins on Saturday_ – I just have to plug this book. It's absolutely fantastic, especially if you know anything about Russian folklore and fairy tales. A translation is available here – it's not a _very_ good one, but still well worth reading. Get it in the original if you can, though. 

Chapter 8

_"But, however entrancing it is to wander unchecked through a garden of bright images"_ – from Dorothy Sayers's _Strong Poison_:   
Harriet: But, however entrancing it is to wander unchecked through a garden of bright images, are we not enticing your mind from another subject of almost equal importance? It seems probable—  
Peter: And if you can quote _Kai Lung_, we should certainly get on together. 

  
And that's the end of the saga! I don't plan a direct sequel to this, though there will eventually be the two Blaise stories. There might even be a little ficlet about Snape and Cassie (and Vector), but that's far, far into the future. For now, I really want to focus on original work. If you're interested in what I'm up to meanwhile, I have a blog at http://butterbug.blogspot.com. 

My heartfelt thanks go out to my RL friends for their never-ending inspiration, support, and opinions, to my Sugar Quill beta Zsenya, for making this a far more polished work than it would have been, and to everyone who took the time to review – your comments meant so much to me and gave me an incentive to keep working even at the most frustrating times. 

I had a great time writing this story, and I hope you enjoyed reading it! 

-- Natasha :) 


End file.
